


"You left."

by orphan_account



Series: The Female Mariachi [1]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Bitterness, Damaged Marriage, Estrangement, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-20 03:24:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14886711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After fifty-one years of being separated from her family, Imelda is finally able to reunite with her husband, Hector, in December 1975.Unfortunately, things don't go as she thought they would.





	"You left."

There wasn't a day in her entire afterlife where Imelda didn't regret leaving Hector and Coco behind to pursue her dream of being a famous musician with her friend, Ernesto. Not a night passed where she didn't curse herself for making such a  _foolish, careless_ and  _reckless_ decision like that.

Oh, how she wished that she could cross over the bridge so she could see them again. But no matter how many attempts she had made—going even as far to dress up as Frida Kahlo so she could see her family again—the officers would keep on reminding her that she had no photo put up on her family's ofrenda, so she couldn't cross until her photo was on the ofrenda.

(She often wondered why her photo wasn't on the ofrenda. Surely, her husband couldn't have left it off on purpose, right?

No, no. It was probably a mistake.

Sure, she had left and hadn't come back—because she was  _unable_ to, she  _died_ —but surely, Hector didn't think that she had left them for so long on  _purpose_ without a single attempt to come back, right?

... _right?_ )

For fifty-one years, she was alone, for not even her visits to Shantytown could dismiss the feelings of longing she held. For fifty-one years, she was unable to see her little girl and the man she loved. 

 _For fifty-one years_ , the only thing that had accompanied her was the sound of Ernesto's cover—his over the top, dramatic, ego-filled version—of her daughter's lullaby, constantly playing on almost every single radio. 

(She remembered seeing him after his death in April 1942, how he had lived in a luxurious mansion while she resided in a small house.

She remembered how he had said in a sweet, yet suspicious tone of voice, "Oh, hermanita, it has been years since your passing. Would you like to stay here? Like the old days, when we lived together as  _hermano y hermana?_ "

She'd turned down the offer politely. She wasn't going to spend the rest of her afterlife, only known as "Ernesto's adoptive sister" or even "friend."

She just wanted to see her daughter, little Coco, again.

She just wanted to see Hector.)

For so many years, her metaphorical heart had been aching.

So, she had been more than excited when an officer had came up to her, in the December of 1975 and said to her: "You said you were looking for a man by the name of 'Hector' when you tried crossing the bridge a while ago, correct? Well, there's a man who just came here recently, and his name happens to be Hector, so... good luck, Senora."

Internally, she had been screaming with joy as she ran to the Marigold Grand Station.  _Finally,_ she'd be reunited with the love of her life.

When she arrived at the station, she looked around as she called out, "Hector? Hector, where are you?" 

She kept looking around until she finally spotted him. How could she not recognize him, with that goatee of his?

Of course, there were a few things different about him that she noticed. He was wearing round spectacle glasses, along with a white suit with a red apron and pants, and his hair had a few white streaks in it as it was combed in a way it hadn't been when she'd left him.

Still, even with the changes in his appearance, it was still Héctor—it was still her  _husband;_ the love of her  _life_.

(And afterlife, hopefully.)

Imelda ran up to him, embracing him. "Oh, Hector! It has been so long! It's so good to finally—"

She stopped as he pushed her off. He stared at her, as if her presence boggled his mind. Then, his eyebrows furrowed. 

"Te atreves a acercarte a mí, después de todos estos años?" he asked, his tone now cold.

"Wh... _what?_ " she stammered. If she still had a stomach, it would've been churning. 

"You left me alone to raise a little girl just so you could go play music with that buff, cocky man and yet you still expect me to welcome you back with open arms?" He scoffed. "I can't believe you." 

For a moment, she stood there, confused and silent. Surely, he didn't think that she had left them on purpose, without any attempts of returning home, right? 

However, her attempts at reassuring herself didn't stop the first two words that he had uttered from echoing in her mind.

_"You left."_

"Hector, amor, it wasn't my fault," Imelda tried reasoning with him. "I  _did_ try coming back to you and Coco, but I  _died_... I wanted to come back to you two, believe me, I did."

She looked into his eyes, searching— _hoping_ —to find some type of sympathy, but all that was behind the pair of glasses was a bitter look; a mixture of disgust, sorrow and anger.

"For so long, we waited for you," he began, looking down at the ground, avoiding eye contact with her. "There were nights where Coco would stay up, looking out the window, waiting for you to come back. For a year, we waited. But then, the year ended, and you didn't come back." His voice wavered a bit as he uttered the last words—as if he was about to break down—before he cleared his throat. "So, while you were gone, I continued to raise her all by myself. I started a shoe business, in hopes of making sure she wouldn't go hungry ever, and that she'd be well-provided for. My younger brothers and I eventually met up again, and they helped me in the shop, alongside babysitting whenever I got too caught up in work to take care of mi hija."

Imelda could've sworn she felt a little pain as she heard him say " _mi hija_ " instead of " _nuestra hija_ ".

"When Coco came of age, I taught her how to make shoes. Then a couple of years after that, she brought her husband home, and I taught him—and eventually, it all became a cycle. The knowledge of shoemaking would be passed down from generation to generation, as the business flourished. While music had torn the family apart, shoemaking was what kept us together." Hector then looked back at Imelda. "And you know what? For every mistake I've made along the way of raising Coco and starting the business, there is one thing that I'm proud of."

"And what is that?" Imelda asked, feeling her metaphorical heart slowly break within every minute that passed.

"Not only have I raised her to be who she is today, but I have made  _sure_ that she  _never_ went down the path that you did," he answered, taking a few steps closer. "You forgot us when we needed you, so I made her forget  _you_." 

And with that, he began to walk away.

"Hector,  _espera!_ " Imelda cried as she grabbed him by the arm. As he turned to her, she began to beg, "Por favor,  _escúchame_. Me arrepiento de dejarte atrás a ti y a Coco, realmente lo hago... no hay un día que pase por el cual no me haya odiado a mí mismo por tomar esa decisión." She was determined to make things work—to get her photo back on the ofrenda, to win  _him_ back into her life—to make sure that it wouldn't end like this. "I want you to know that there never was a time where I stopped loving you."

He stopped for a moment, as if he were thinking things over. Then, he murmured, "Do you actually love me? Because you have a funny way of showing it."

" _Amor_ —"

"You made your choice a long time ago, Imelda, just as I have made mine. You chose your music, and I chose  _mi familia_."

He yanked his arm out of her grasp, and began to walk away once more. 

This time, she didn't stop him. Instead, she fell to her knees as she broke down, sobbing.

Fifty-one years ago, she'd had a wonderful family of her own—a loving husband and a precious daughter. 

She lost that family the moment she had left with Ernesto, to pursue her dreams of becoming a mariachi.

Now, she had nothing—she had  _no one_. The only thing that accompanied her was the empty feeling of loneliness.

She had found out what "until death do us part" really meant, the hard way.

For it had not only parted her and her husband, it had torn apart their family completely. 

Now, she was nothing to them.

**Author's Note:**

> Bummer ending, I realize, but hey, I DID tag "bitterness" after all!  
> Anyway, I might either update my other works, or perhaps make a prequel one shot to this detailing Imelda and Ernesto's -to put things lightly- "complicated" ties (or maybe even a sequel dealing with Hector's feelings).  
> Either way, I hope you folks enjoyed this. :)


End file.
